Party Like A Rockstar
by JessyDarlink
Summary: You know that awkward moment where your music is too loud and everyone around you can hear? Sounds just like Egderp. DAVE/JOHN Serious Fluff HighSchool AU


**Party Like a Rockstar  
(DAVE/JOHN)**

**I'm trying a different style with this fanfic, yeah it's in second person but I didn't do the casual CAPITALIZATION that comes with characters and stuff. This isn't as HAHA-funny as any of my other fics, but it is amusing. It also could have had the potential of being a mastrubation fic. C: (It's ironic because I can write that, but heck, an AmusementStuck scene in a bathroom? LET'S TAKE THREE DAYS AND FOUR EDITS FOR THAT.) **

**Funfact: I actually had a nosebleed while writing this, and no it was not out of KAWAII-DESU-NESS, though I'd like to think it was weird timing. Also it explains the blood on my shirt. **

**ON WITH THE SHOW~!**

**Page break **

Your name is Dave Strider and you're pretty sure that's Egbert's sweater in your passenger seat.

Well pretty sure turned into mostly sure because you distinctly remember (and cannot forget) John stripping himself of said sweater in that same seat when you were driving him home. And of course he did it at a _friggin _stoplight so you could forgo paying attention at the road, and thanks to your sunglasses you could totally stare at him without him noticing. (Then again, even without the sunglasses, he probably wouldn't have noticed.) He was just nerdy enough to pull off wearing a sweater, fashionably, and literally, since he pulled it over his head as he continued to ramble about the school dance coming up. ("And I'm so nervous because I have really big plans for that night, like bigger plans than the normal plans, you know? But not like...evil master plans because that's taking it to an unnecessary level.") You could barely pay attention because _did he even realize his shirt was riding up in the front, exposing just the smallest bit of pale skin near his belly button_-

Hold up, you're getting ahead of yourself. Well, not really, but you don't like sitting in front of your house, staring at your passenger seat as if the boy you love will magically appear like some ridiculous homoerotic fairy tale. Nope that seat will remain empty as you sit there and have this internal debate. Because under any normal circumstances, if you were any other person, you would just leave the sweater there and return it to him in the morning. You think of how inconvenient though that would be for John, having to carry around an extra sweater because you couldn't do the_ right _and _gentlemanly_ thing and drive it back to his house.

Screw it, you're just making excuses. You want to go see him, because of course you barely get to see him during the day. Just the fleeting glances and hi-howareyou-goodbye conversations in hallways, a twenty minute or so debate in lunch, and then your rides home. That was hardly enough real-time with John Egbert, and not even text messages could satisfy you. As your Bro walks out to the front steps, possibly to ask why you have been idling there for about twenty minutes, your hand is shifting the car to drive and you're speeding away.

Super Gentleman Dave Strider Activated.

PageBreak

Your name is still Dave Strider and you're entirely certain you have broken the speed limit several times on the way to John Egbert's house, and even more sure that you don't give a fuck. Let the cops pull you over. You have a flaming hot nerd sweater in your passenger seat and you are not afraid to use it. (And by use it you mean create a fantastical tale about how this sweater is needed for dire purposes, and if that doesn't work, you can always say you really really needed to go to the bathroom.)

But you never have to pull out that hat of excuses (though you admit that would be totally cool if you did), because you get to John's house relatively quickly, and find yourself grabbing his gosh darn sweater even as you're pulling up into his empty driveway.

You know his dad wouldn't be home, which is why you had volunteered for this job in the first place-or at least, that's what John thinks.

John's front door was closed, and after knocking several times, you realize that 1) it was unlocked and 2) John isn't answering. It wasn't like you were a burglar, (though that would be entirely ironic) so you just opened the door and went in anyway.

The house was eerily quiet, and also filled to brim with clowns-er, harlequins? Either way, whatever they were, they were freaky, though no one could tell behind your look of Strider determination and lack of emotion. Also, the sunglasses helped, because your eyes were darting around everywhere as if Lil' Cal was gonna fall from the ceiling and on your head with a knife in his hands like in all your weirdest nightmares.

God, his house was so weird.

You found his bedroom easily, having been there before, though you remember less clowns being around. The door at the end of the hallway was closed, actively displaying the most ridiculous bedroom sign you have ever seen. You won't even fathom to describe it more in detail, only to say it was like a movie poster, with all of John's ridiculous favorite actors on it, with explosions and fire and then on the bottom where the title was supposed to go, instead it simply read "JOHN'S ROOM. NOW IN THEATERS."

_"Why does that say 'now in theaters? Your room isn't in a theater, it's in a house, dude." _

_"I know, but wouldn't it be so cool if my room was in a movie theater?" _

_"That would be cool, almost as cool as if like Michael Moore did a documentary on your room."_

_"Yeah, about the terrible treatment and conditions of the other movie posters." _

_"It would be a hit." _

_"We'd go see it at midnight." _

_"I'd be played by Bruce Willis." _

You smile at the memory, but your face immediately becomes composed when you hear something coming from the other side of the door. Words? Wicked beats? What? You press your ear up against the door and sort of determine it's some sort of muffled music. Television? No, too quiet for that, also wouldn't John have heard you by now? Maybe he's asleep. If he's asleep you'll probably smack him with the sweater...

Your hand casually reaches for the doorknob, hoping for a sound of movement, or heck maybe the stopping of beats, but no, nothing happens, and the door swings open easily to reveal Egderp in his finest. Yes Egderp. Because he cannot be considered John Egbert when he's flailing around with his eyes closed, wonky 90's style headphones clamped on his ears, while the beginning seconds of Party Like A Rockstar, (a song you only remember because of the shirts) start belting out, along with a suspicious bulge in his pocket you can only think to be a Walkman. All Strider composure is gone. You can't even hold it in. You're on the wall, laughing hysterically, muffling it as much as you can with your sleeve.

Then he starts to sing.

"Party like the rock, party like a rockstar-"

Oh you cannot take it_. The lyrics are wrong_. He's so adorably cute you can't stand it.

Then came the aggravated crank back motion, like some ridiculous ripoff of the Soulja Boy Dance.

He can't dance, and that's why his eyes are closed. You need to stop this before you lose your cool. You can barely retain the urge to either scare the living crap out of him or just kiss him while he's being so stupid. You reach for the lightswitch and flick it on and off hoping to get his attention-and finally you do-and his ridiculously blue eyes open to find you restraining giggles.

And those giggles became full on laughs when John nearly jumped out of his skin ripping his headphones off and digging into his pocket to rip them out from the Walkman because the pause button wouldn't shut it up fast enough.

"_DAVEEEEEEE!" _he yells, the most odd emotions crossing over his red face. Maybe he hoped Dave didn't see much, or maybe avoided the vertical worm movement with the accompanying hip swivel.

"I can't-I can't _even _say-_John_-John-" you're sputtering and it sounds wholly unattractive.

"Daveeeee." This time your name was long and drawn out, like he was catching his breath or something. "Why are you here?"

"You left your sweater...in my car." you reply. "But first, I need to ask, is that a walkman in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" You had to. You _had _ to. Because how ironic is it, in a time of flipping iPods that are the size of your thumb-to have a freaking Walkman. Also, how the flip did he get that on a CD?

John puts his hands on his hips and frowns, but it can only last a minute, because yes that joke was hilarious. You whip the sweater at him, and he doesn't catch it. It lands on the floor behind him, but he is now smiling, buck teeth and all.

"Okay, so what exactly were you doing?"

"I was dancing!" he squeaks defensively. "Practicing!"

"You were having a seizure to hip hop music." you state, then add, "Or you were practicing a mating dance of some sort."

He turns redder, if that was humanly possible, and you feel victorious. "Aww, John, who are you practicing for?" you ask mockingly. It's best to have a disjoined agenda when you ask these questions, and at least you're good enough with your emotions not to give anything away by how _fucking angry _you would be if he actually was impressing someone else. But you know it won't be you. You don't dance. Ever. You have a rep for literally sitting at the tables assigned to you and making critical remarks about the music all night. The only reason you go to these bi-monthly friendship making social hours is because you debate with John about everything, and the same goes for John. The only difference of you being there instead of at his house was that there was better snacks and you had a chance to see John in something other than a nerdy lumpy sweater.

He pauses, biting his lip as he thought. "...well to be honest, I'm hoping that me learning how to dance...somewhat will encourage a friend of mine to come and join me, well-er, someone I would like to be as more than my friend." John says. "Since we're bros, I can totally tell you. And I think it's really odd for you to come barging in my room at such an awkward time."

"I'm magic." you shoot back, emotionless. "And who are you encouraging? Rose? She never goes to these things."

"Nope, not Rose. I doubt she'd be encouraged by this...'blatant sillyness.'" he even does the air quotes. "Also, I don't like Rose like that."

"Jade?" "She already dances, remember?" John looks like he's about to burst into a fit of giggles himself, like he wasn't the one with the Walkman moments earlier. "And she's my cousin."

Your mind does frantic backflips. What the hell is he talking about? "Did you make a new friend or something because fuck me I have no idea who you're trying to gesture to here." you state.

John breaks out into a full smile, and you feel the tides of victory turning. "_You."_

"...you're trying to lure me onto a dance floor...?" you weren't exactly connecting the dots. Well you hoped you were, but like a frustrated little kindergartner, you couldn't tell if this connect-the-dots picture was supposed to be a lollipop or a trident of power...or there's a chance it could be the North Pole.

John nods briskly. "Eyep." He looks at you expectantly, like you're missing something.

"John I am not going to allow myself to jump to conclusions." you state plainly enough. Because your heart is pounding and _holy fuck _this is not how you expected this meeting to go. Hand off the sweater, possibly a couple minutes to hours of conversation, some Cheetos, and you could have called this another night of unrequited love. Your arms cross over your chest as your hips went to one side. Super straight pose right there, by the way, and you're not one to think these things.

Rolling his eyes playfully, John is still silent. "Okay, can you please explain yourself because there is no way in hell that what I'm thinking is what you meant by any of those freaking statements. Throw me another bone here, I'm such a confused teenage boy right now."

"Dave Strider, I like you. Now let me practice for what was supposed to be a surprise."

What.

And let's just say the rest of the afternoon was more eventful than just a few hours of conversation and Cheetos. (Teaching John to dance in rhythm was like teaching your left foot to speak Spanish, but you're happy you didn't get smacked in the face by a flailing hand. Or at least, it didn't hurt much. _"But I was trying to do jazz hands!") _

And for once, you could leave that house feeling less unrequited than you normally did. Because yes, John Egbert totally liked you. And you didn't even have to get into the degree of "liking" because it was completely obvious what he meant, you weren't in elementary school anymore. (Not that this made any difference, throughout this "dance lesson" you found yourself repeatedly asking what John meant by all that. Like like. Like. He, of course, got very blushy during this and declared that he had never meant to tell you, and it just slipped out. Though Rose had been encouraging him to just get it out. You make a mental note to harass your sister about this later.)

A week later, you finally went to the dance with a reason more than just to talk to John Egbert.

**Gaaaah this is a very cliche little oneshot. Lo siento. I am simply exploring the stereotype of John being a NERDDDD and Dave being like so head over heels for him (focused on characterizing Dave right this time, though John I believe, would be a terrible dancer. I mean look at that victory dance)... either way, if anyone can get beyond how silly and cliche this is, I might post **_**another **_**one-shot (this is a might) that depicts their adventures at the dance. I'm worried it'll turn into a JohnDave version of PromStuck so this is a maybe. Please review and such so I know how badly/goodly (yes goodly) I did...**

**The second one-shot may be titled Danza Kuduro because this is the song they will dance to. Also known as the Fast Five credits song that was, for some reason, played at my prom. It's Spanish. **


End file.
